The Craft Imperil'd
by Madea's Rage
Summary: The Characters strike back...eventually
1. Chapter 1

**A/N : Love to reviewers.**

**Sequel to " The Perils of the Craft".**

Harry Potter was smushed, clothed, into a bathtub with his pseudo-arch nemesis. The one who wasn't actively trying to kill him ( anymore). The faucet was jammed into his back at a strange angle and his legs had gone wholly numb. Still, it could be worse. Snape was crammed under the sink, looking ready to hex someone.

" Pigs!" They heard Bellatrix even with the door closed. "Miserable, wretched swine!" The other women murmured in agreement and the men drew closer to one another in abject terror. The only sound was the scraping of the spoons on the sides of the Hagen-Daas container.

"How long must we stay in this stupid room? Potter's legs are crushing mine." Draco tried to get up a really good whine but found the tiny, ugly tiled loo was sapping his strength. Besides, what sort of people have WCs in the same room they bathe in?

"Was it something I did?" The author took another big bite of ice cream and the women made a feminine sound of comfort and shared rage. Lucius, whose back was to the door, reached up to make sure the door was locked. His hand, Harry noticed, shook very slightly.

" I wouldn't go out there, boy. Love might be the most powerful magic, but hormonal rage fueled by insecurity is a very high second. They'll rip you apart like maenads." Snape spoke from the voice of long experience, world weary and suffering a dreadful neck cramp.

The only happy man in the bathroom was the Pettigrew –rat. Having transformed to save space, he was happily wallowing in the sink, soaking in a mixture of pleasantly warm water and a drop of the author's sweetly scented shampoo. Ah, bliss! He lay on his back and kicked his paws, utterly satisfied.

The Dark Lord was sitting on the bog, a pensive look on his face. Harry was uncomfortable being so close to his true mortal enemy ( of whom Draco was a pale, whiny, bony kneed fraction of a shadow) but Voldemort seemed deep in thought, almost indifferent.

The door handle shook and they all jumped, prepared for a whirlwind of female energy as Lucius slowly undid the lock. Instead, the author poked her head through the door, still sniffling and began to rummage in the cabinet.

"Hello, Madea. Are you feeling any better?" Lucius used a bright, cheerful tone to cover the absolute terror of every man in the room. An enraged author was a dangerous author, the kind of author who wrote revenge fics.

"I'm okay. WHY WON"T HE CALL?" Lucius shrank back and, seeing the others had retreated, decided to bite the proverbial bullet. "Now now, I'm sure it's a misunderstanding. Perhaps he's simply…"

"Forgotten me? Founder a thinner, blonder woman--"

" Who isn't utterly mad? Why would you worry about that?" Draco couldn't take a single second more of this. He was a Malfoy, dammit! He shouldn't have to spend time with Potter's bony little legs mashing his finely turned calves, the result of his mother's Black genes.

"Shut up, Malfoy! Are you trying to get us shipped?"

The author turned, sniffling. " 'S'okay, Harry. I'm too upset to write. We're going to do hair and watch a movie."

The men sighed with relief that she wasn't on her computer and then groaned, relizing that the 'moo-vee' could take hours."

" Can't we come out and watch with you?"

She shook her head. "No, we're still having girl time."

She picked up a huge container of sparkly hair things and a metal tube of something called 'hair-spray'. From the other room, a strident voice rang out like carpet tacks on fine china " Muggle, what is taking you so long? Shall I come and assist you?"

They blanched as one. Lucius tried to close the door, but Rudolphus, hence forth napping shoulder to shoulder with Snape, called to the author. " You're actually letting my wife anywhere near your head with a hairbrush?"

The author shrugged. "Better she than Madam Malfoy.' Turning to Lucius, she said softly "Your wife is very nice but she's got a hell of an arm on her. She could play baseball with a swing like that. I'm not arming her."

The door closed and they breathed again. Lucius' voice cut the stillness. " Draco, have I ever told you what your mother was like during her pregnancy with you?"

"No, Father."

" She spent two weeks locked in her rooms crying because I forgot Grandmother Rosier's birthday. Compared to Narcissa, this is a doddle."

Draco nodded slowly. " Yes, Father." He was utterly confused as to what one had to do with the other. " My point, Draco, is that you should consider yourself fortunate. This one is reasonably sane the majority of the time."

Draco nodded. The sounds from the other room were abating somewhat. Then, not without president, Bellatrix's voice rang out. " Let us watch the clown again, muggle. I feel it would be instructive to yourself and the mud blood."

Two hours later, the majority of the inhabitants of the necessary were freed. They cautiously fanned out, having craftily sent the two boys as an advance guard. The women were sitting in front of the TV, hair in identical nests of curls.

" Her hair doesn't actually look like that, Rudolphus?"

"The effect is quite deliberate, actually. For a while, the Dark Lord had an idea that fearsome hair would add to our image."

Lucius nodded slowly. "I suppose that explains why Narcissa had blue hair for a week or so in the early eighties."

Voldemort, overhearing this, felt as though he should chime in. "I don't remember saying that. Then again, I suppose I might have. There was a lot going on in those days."

Rudolphus, irritated to discover that his wife's strange hair wasn't so much an attempt to terrify their foes as a personal whim, exhaled loudly. " I do wish someone might have told me. I would have bought her decent shampoo."

The women ignored them. They were crashed out from the huge amount of sugar in their systems and the amount of trashing talking they had done.

The author's cell phone rang and she lazily stretched out a hand. 'H'lo?"

Her face lit up. "You forgot your charger at home and that's why you didn't call? You want to get a late supper? Alright, I can be ready in half an hour. See you then. Love you too, bye."

She leapt up giggling. " I'm going out, y'all. Be back late, don't wait up." She turned on the shower, happier than she'd been in days. Then, from the bathroom:

" Oh, and Draco?"

Draco's blood ran cold. He shivered and looked around. " Yes, Madea?"

" I plan on writing when I give back, and I think that remark you made—what the hell? Pettigrew, get out! Pervert! Someone come get Wormtail." The door flew open and a rat was unceremoniously dangled from the gap. Snape put out a hand and the damp, squirming creature was dropped into his outstretched palm.

As she stepped into the shower, careful to protect her newly curly hair, her thoughts kept flying back to what had just happened. Stepping out, she nearly fell over something on the floor.

Her bedroom slipper. A lightbulb went off, and as she began to grin.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Bellatrix has quite taken over this plot bunny. I suggested she let someone else have a turn; not coincidentally, I got a serious beating around that same time. Wands hurt, people!**

Many people are under the impression that teenage girls throw the worst of all possible fits. Those people have presumably never experienced a fit thrown by three teenage boys, all of them magical. Truly, the grandmother of all fits everywhere.

The writer brought it on herself, really. She left her profile page up while she ran to the bathroom. The boys apparently got over there mutual hate of some seven years (even that whole ugly Dumbledore incident) to snoop like truffle seeking pigs. Cue fireworks.

" You're letting him do what to me? Bloody hell, bloody hell!"

Harry pounded the door with his fist. Ron was right behind, demanding to know why he was written out. Draco was third, whining because he wanted to be allowed to see Harry thrashed to within an inch of his life.

The author stepped out in her bathrobe. She had a look that could be described as deeply displeased. Her hair was coated in some foul smelling paste and she wore no makeup. " Is something wrong, gentlemen?"

Harry grabbed a hold on her arm and drug her to the computer. She flicked her eyes over the screen and read for a second. "What?"

" What? What? How could you?"

"Honestly, Harry, calm down. It's just a little spanking."

"Just? Little? I'll never be able to show my face again!" He sank down on the bed, head in hands, and moaned.

Ron was next. " I'm in it for two seconds! Why can't I ever get a decent role in these bloody things?"

She shrugged. "Muse's orders, Ron. I'm sorry."

Ron sighed. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." He shook hands with Harry, gave Hermione a hug and then stepped outside the room. A crack was heard and he was gone.

The remaining two (three with Snape) spread out a little. Draco took the chance to whine at Madea. "Why couldn't I watch? It's only a spanking." He gave her a sad look, which was rather ruined by the hard thump Harry gave him to the back of the head.

" Little nothing! It's not your arse."

The Death Eaters gathered about the screen and read, occasionally going back to read a part again. Voldemort nodded slowly as he read, as did the Malfoys. Snape slowly ambled over and gave Pettigrew a shove, displacing him. He read the whole thing through, twice, and then gave a contented sigh.

" I take back my previous comments about you, Madam. You aren't a poorly dressed shrew with no work ethic. You're closer to the tolerable edge of mediocrity than I would have guessed."

"Do you really say so, Snape?" Lucius gave his old friend an amused look. "Look at her. Can't she be both?"

" Thanks so much, Mr. Malfoy." She plopped down on her bed and heard a squeak. Jumping up, she discovered a slightly squished Pettigrew rat trying to burrow under her quilt.

" Wormtail, get out of there. My hair will be done soon and then I have to get ready."

The air changed. " You're going somewhere?"

"Yes. I have a party to go to."

Harry moaned again from the foot of the bed. " I can never go anywhere again! You've ruined my life."

The author attempted to ignore the nonsense and let her hair process. She sat back, shoved Wormtail off the pillow and opened her book. She attempts to bury herself in the purple prosed adventures of the brave girl pirate Mari Suzette and her boy friend Gary Stew, but Draco couldn't leave well enough alone.

"Wouldn't you like a pillow to sit on, Potter? I'd imagine it would be a good deal more comfortable on your well-sp--"

Lucius managed to intervene before blows were exchanged but the author had had enough. She was cranky and hormonal and someone had been stealing her Oreos. They'd die a thousand slow deaths once she found out who it was…she suspected Wormtail, but Snape had been eyeing them in a very covetous way.

Struggling from his immobilized place on the floor, Harry was brooding on the unfairness of it all. ( Adolescence had not been kind to Harry's already rather brooding personality.) Draco, also immobilized, knew his parents didn't care and honestly just wanted to eat some more of those Oreo things the author thought she'd hidden under her bed. He began to plot the most effective way of going about this while projecting hurt innocence.

" Can't you just take the story down?"

"No, Madam Malfoy. You know I can't."

The author sat down on the bed and flipped her damp hair over to dry it with the blow dryer. She sprayed her whole head with hairspray and began to coax the whole thing into hard little waves.

After a few moments the boys were duly unimmobilized and, of course, naturally went right back to her computer, hoping with their whole hearts that they could look at pictures of scantily dressed muggle women before they were found and cuffed about the head.

Curious, they returned again to Madea's profile. Draco noticed his name and clicked…then gave a cry of pure outrage.

" Damn you, you muggle bitch! You had to drag me into this, didn't you?" He pulled his wand, intent on hexing all the weird two-toned hair off her head, when a cold hand lashed out. "Draco, how rude to our hostess."

The Dark Lord read the story in question while the Malfoys huddled, too scared even to sneer. He gave a slow nod of approval. "Very good, Madam. I would never have thought to utilize Wormtail in that way." Draco blanched.

The two Malfoys elders were intent on ignoring the whole thing with dignity. It wasn't that bad, really; of course, they weren't seventeen. Draco was angry; Draco was hurt; Draco desired revenge but saw little avenue for it. Therefore, he fell on his only option—he sulked.

After a few minutes of this, Snape had had enough. Or else decided to add fuel to the fire because he was bored; both were equally likely. He stretched, yawned and gave the pouting teens a nasty smile. " If I didn't know any better, I would almost think you children would benefit from a good whacking."

Narcissa Malfoy gave an outraged sniff. "Really, Severus, I would have thought your feelings for your godson would run a bit deeper."

"My feelings for Draco have nothing to do with the unbearable little prat he's acted for the past few days. Perhaps this will teach him a little humility."

Now both Malfoys were glaring and the Lestranges as well. Not all the time, as Bellatrix was only glaring when she remembered. Other than that, she was attempting to use the author's CD player. Unfortunately, she hadn't quite mastered the concept of electricity, so nothing was happening because it was not plugged in.

"Madam, the Potter boy is a menace. You saw how he attacked my son?"

"You saw how Draco started the problem. What do you intend to do about that?"

Lucius paused, clearly trying to find an angle but Narcissa had no qualms. She pulled herself up and said sharply " Muggle! I order you to release my son at once!"

The author mimicked her pose. " Witch! I order you to reign in your hellspawn!"

"Why you insolent mud blooded cow! I ought to--"

The author turned to the Dark Lord, who had been paging idly through a world history on the inflatable couch. " Look, I hate to ask but what do you think? You seem sane-ish aside from the whole genocidal maniac thing."

He nodded to acknowledge the compliment and then gave the issue a little thought. The timer dinged and the author leapt up and abruptly and ran for the bathroom. They heard the shower running; fifteen minutes later she appeared, hair straightener in hand.

" Muggle, what is that ridiculous contraption? Surely you intend to beat my nephew with it?"

The author shook her head. " A straightening iron, Madam Lestrange. For my hair" at her blank look.

Bellatrix, who felt Draco would benefit from a good beating of some kind, decided to take matters into her own hands. She simply took it from Madea's hand and, pointing her wand at the iron, she conjured a giant club, grinning. Narcissa stepped in front of her son, screeching protests.

" Bellatrix, no. You can't maim him."

"A through clubbing never did me any harm."

"Trixie, don't be absurd, Mother never clubbed you."

" I'm older than you. She clubbed me every time I deserved it. Made me the witch I am today."

Everyone in the room got very quiet.

Then Bellatrix, disappointed that her sister was not onboard with the clubbing idea and noticing the author was fluffing her hair, asked loudly " Muggle, what have you done to your hair? It's a different color." The author jumped up and ran for the mirror.

" It's supposed to be this color. I just dyed it in the bathroom."

Bellatrix wrinkled her nose. "Perhaps you should think about a floppy hat."

The author, used to Bellatrix's advice, went for her dress. She went to her closet, rummaged in the depth, pulled out one of the family of possums that had taken residence there and eventually found her dress. That possum had to be lured out with a ginger snap, but once gulled he was easily dropped into the hamper, there to colonize the dirty towels and t-shirts.

She pulled it from the closet and held it up with a triumphant 'ah-hah!'"

" You're going out in that?" For once Bellatrix seemed to be voicing something other than total madness. Horror. Shock and horror.

"Yes. Why?"

" You'll be arrested." This from Lucius, who refused to conscience a night in some filthy muggle pseduo-Azkaban while trapped in the woman's head. The so-called 'dress' was nothing more than a few filmy pieces of cloth held together with spell-o tape and prayer.

The dress was really quite modest, with thick straps and a knee length skirt. She intended to wear it to a little frat party, just a tiny one, and then maybe for cheese fries. The whole group was staring at her in undisguised disbelief ( except Harry and Draco. Other than that, even Wormtail's rat form looked upset).

She huffed. " It's a really nice dress." She set it on her bed, intending to go into the bathroom and finish getting ready.

" If you're charging a galleon an hour, it is." She stood up, prepared to take out her oreo-deficient rage on Lucius. Meanwhile, Harry and Draco had a plan. If there were going to be muggle women dressed like that at this party, they simply had to go; they didn't need the laptop anymore ( which was good, because Bellatrix had co-opted it).

It was inconceivable that the respected wizards and witches in the room be seen, even vicariously, in that awful dress. Voldemort gave Wormtail a signal and the little sort-of rat jumped into action. Leaping onto the dress, he heroically began to gnaw the straps, careful to cause structural damage to render the dress unwearable.

The author tried to bat him off, only to discover that rats are both stronger and more tenacious than popular lore gives them credit. It was a short, pitched battle that left many in the room more than a little impressed. Alas, nature usually wins these things, and Pettigrew –rat ran off with the dress clutched in his huge teeth.

The author sat down, defeated. She put her hands to her face and started sniffling, upset that her new dress was being turned into an unusually plush rat's nest even as they spoke.

"Now now, mustn't carry on. I'm sure you've something just as pretty to wear."

She shook her head. "Only the dress I go to church in." She pulled it from the closet and realized the others were not convinced. Then Bellatrix ( she was in a very helpful mood, it seemed; it was obvious to her that both girls needed her guidance in most matters) blared: " You won't look like a whore in this one."

The author decided to wear slacks. As she was dressing, a hurried conversation was taking place in the living room. Stepping out, she was accosted by the two boys, trying to look remorseful and determined to do right.

"We're really sorry, Madea. Aren't we, Draco?"

Draco nodded. "Dreadfully sorry. We want to make it up to you."

" Help me how?"

Lucius' voice came from the main room. " By escorting you to that party. As your protectors."

" That's flattering, guys, but you understand that no one else can see you, right? You're avatars; you exist in my brain and on paper."

This opportunity couldn't slip away. " But we'd all be so worried if you went alone."

" And I suppose the proximity of all those gorgeous, half naked women has nothing to do with it?"

Draco tried to project sincerity. "What if something happened to you? I'd never forgive myself."

She laughed. " Laying it on a little thick, boys."

They glowered. " It was worth a try."

" How did you get your Dad to agree to help you?"

" Because we're the better alternative. Believe us."

"To what?"

Bellatrix shoved her way into the tiny corridor. " All right, then. It's settled."

The author had an awful, awful feeling. " What is?"

" Come along, muggle. It's time to go."


	3. Chapter 3

"This place is boring and we want to go home." The author sighed and considered smacking herself in the head but settled for glaring at a few loudly talking freshman. Again the cacophony of voices: "It's dark in here and we're terribly cramped."

" It's my job, it's a library and we're staying here until my shift is done." The author shifted on her stool and looked at the clock, which had frozen at eleven thirty and refused to move. She took a sip of soft drink to calm the tickle in her throat. They shut up, at least for the nonce.

A disgruntled looking man stormed up to the counter. "Look here, miss, I tried to use the self checkout and it said my card is blocked. You have to unblock it right now, because I must have these books!"

She looked at the huge stack of books he'd slapped down at the desk. " Did it say why your card was blocked, sir?"

He huffed. " Something about a fine. You don't understand, I need these books right now!"

"Archie comics? Four hundred ways to prepare Spam? The complete works of Bulwer-Lytton?" Saying nothing aloud, she ran his card and checked to see the fines he was raving about. She raised an eyebrow, opting to explain that she couldn't give him the books until he paid the fine.

" I can't check you out until you have no fines but you only owe--"

"Theta's absurd! This is obviously a deliberate slight directed at me and only me. Did you lay awake all night trying to find a way to make me suffer, you vindictive, badger faced book troll!"

" Sir, I've never seen you before, and the correct term is library assistant. If you'd like to talk to my supervisor you could come back--"

"Dear lady! Are you going to let him talk to you like that ?"

She jerked. "Mr. Malfoy, this is not a good--"

"Perhaps Lucius has a viable point. Surely you can put a little of the –forcefulness—you so effectively employ at home into preventing this situation from escalating?" Rudolphus drawled from somewhere near her left frontal lobe.

She nodded and cut the man off mid rant. "Sir, I cannot help you until you have paid off the fine."

The man pulled himself up to his full height. " Listen here, you ink stained hell-cow, you will remove the charge from my card or face the consequences."

"I will not." From somewhere in the deep recesses of her brain, she felt Narcissa stir. "What are you waiting for? Employ your cunning." She smiled sweetly at the enraged and now very confused man.

"Surely we can resolve this without undue bother, Mr." She looked at his student card " Specheul". Specheul, slightly mollified, waited for her to give in.

" I don't want to get in trouble with my supervisor, though, so why don't you wait over there and I'll give you the signal when it's all clear."

The voices stilled. " All right, now all you have to do is slid me ten cents and I'll make it all go away."

He carefully palmed her a dime and she typed in a code. The machine deleted his fines and he took his books, exclaiming happily that "Now my Bulwer-Lytton/Archie fan club's annual potluck will be really special!"

"Special's the word, all right." She murmured to herself, taking another large swallow of soft drink and vowing to give it all up and farm lima beans.

" Really, Madam, I'm disappointed. You let him off with so little, after the way he treated you? Shameful." Malfoy the elder actually did feel sort of appalled at the whole thing. He'd been looking forward to watching her verbally eviscerate the fool.

"That's just it, though. That was his full fine. He pitched a huge fit over ten cents. Not to mention, now he'll think I did him some kind of favor."

Silence. "That's…almost Slytherin of you, dear lady."

She smiled. "Thank you, Lord Voldemort. I do try my best."

She felt the disgusted squirm from her brain stem and then Bella's strident crow: "All my influence, you know."

She clutched her sweater more tightly about her shoulders. The library was so awfully cold. Her head was beginning to hurt and her throat felt scratchy and dry. " Guess I must have a bug."

"Or perhaps, if you hadn't gone gallivanting all over town at night, you would feel fine."

"Thank you, Madam Malfoy. It must have been a whole ten minutes since you last reminded me."

Narcissa gave an offended sniff. The characters were still quite incredulous she'd actually gone off alone, and were attributing every possible misfortune to that fact. Had a large rhinoceros burst in and caused mayhem, Narcissa would have helpfully pointed out that the creature was clearly attracted to the nasty smell of the place the author had been, and if she'd stayed inside like a nice girl, then she wouldn't have gotten trampled.

The author was really feeling awful. Luckily her shift would be ending soon. After closing she walked slowly back to her dorm, to the great relief of all those crowded into her head. They spread out, finding accustomed places around the little hole she called home.

"You don't look well at all, Madam. Perhaps you should write a little and then get some sleep."

She rolled over and unburied her head. "Can't write. Muse isn't saying anything."

From her other side, Draco broke the sulk he'd been cultivating for days and said huffily "If you'd only take my ideas about what should happen next--"

"Draco, all your ideas involve some variation on Harry being eaten by the squid while you singlehandedly win the House Cup."

He nodded. "So what's the problem?"

"I think it's self aggrandizing B.S. Let me sleep, okay? I'll write tomorrow."

She got up long enough to bring a massive bottle of " Sleep 4 U" out of her medicine cabinet. They stopped and stared. "What is that?"

"Medicine. Make me go to sleep."

Bellatrix snatched the bottle and inspected it, gave a snort. " No wonder you're sick. Not a single magical ingredient. Might as well drink lots of fluids and get plenty of rest."

They all looked at her for a moment. "Don't have any magic. Medicine's as good as it gets." She took a big slug and promptly fell asleep.

The characters were quite at a loss. " Shall we play charades?" Pettigrew, human again, finally said. No one dignified that with the hex it deserved.

A knock came at the door. Harry jumped up and answered, only to be faced with the usual man in black robes, along with a stranger.

"But she's signed for us! We can't leave her high and dry."

"You aren't. We're just trying something a little different, and she needs some space to adjust. Besides, this room is crowded like it is."

They filed out, while the second person took the clipboard and went to the snoring author. "Madea? Wake up, Madea." She rolled over and opened one eye. "Mmmffhhmm?"

"Sign here."

"The Muse?"

The stranger nodded. " Sign on the line, okay?" She scrawled her name.

"Why d'you look like Hannibal Lector?"

The Muse shrugged. " Some people need…convincing." The Muse made a wet slurping sound and the author shuddered. Then she passed out again, and didn't wake until the next afternoon.

. When she woke the watery light was high on the wall. She stretched. And promptly hit something soft with her foot. "Oi! Be careful, would you?" She sat up and then, moaning, fell back again.

After a second she ventured another look. Nothing had changed. "Why? Why always me?"

"Are you going to get up? We're hungry."

Sitting at the end of the bed were Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, both clad in pajamas and looking, to say the least, rather grumpy. That wouldn't have been so bad. Except, of course, the fact they looked all of eleven years old.


End file.
